a culinary eye
by vidronoliquidificador
Summary: Hannibal and Will have one last dinner together. (this is a gift to Time Lady of Unsinkable Ships and it was betaed by the lovely Zsadist at Heart)


This was a truce.

Sitting at the table, across from Hannibal. It was a truce. It would always be.

For at the dinner table there should be no murder attempts, no betrayals, no arguing. Nothing other than the uncanny politeness of a pleasant meal with someone whose secrets you knew all too well to be far darker than those common people kept. Will was accustomed to this type of darkness; he'd been chasing it. This was the standard of his world, a world of thinkingandfeelingandbeing part of a darkness that wasn't quite his own.

But it could be. Hannibal had shown him.

And still, dinner called for civilized behavior.

Will reached out for his wine glass. The silence was comfortable and he wondered how much of that easiness came from his ability to understand the wickedness in someone else's mind. The man across the table was a constant reminder of how wicked Will himself could be. The weightlessness of their silence was proof enough of an understanding Will couldn't trust completely. The man across the table was a constant reminder of how, for some time, his mind was no longer under his own control.

The dish was beautiful which was not unexpected. It would be disquieting to have Hannibal serve an ugly dish and, yet, the thorough display of beauty came as a surprise. Will observed the food, letting his mind wander. Allowing it to find the reasoning behind his surprise.

There was a purpose in the slices of roasted meat. In the toasted fennel seeds, in the red peppers. In the mixture of sage, rosemary and garlic. In the citric flavor he could taste. There was something hidden in the perfect food. It as a dish that could easily serve more people. And yet, this had been made for him.

Will took a sip of red wine.

This was a confession.

Hannibal wanted to share this meal with him; it was something meant to be shared only with him. Will put his glass down and picked up his fork. It was a dish prepared with care. It took time, it took effort. Hannibal wanted to give him this time; it wasn't meant to be shared with anyone else.

A gift.

No one else could have this because it was made for Will. It was a taste meant for Will's mouth, it was a sight meant for Will's eyes.

This was a courtship.

Will took another bite of the roasted meat. Pork? No, Hannibal was sharing something special with him. It took time, it took effort…it took hunting. It couldn't be just any body part, and Hannibal was far too meticulous to be bothered by such a small difficulty. The dish itself would require, at least, a leg and fatty belly meat. Hannibal had explained the dish as he brought it from the kitchen; he had meant for Will to realize the work he had put into it.

This had been carefully planned, carefully displayed. This was his design.

Will looked up from his plate, looked for Hannibal's eyes. Hannibal watched him over his wine glass with a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Perhaps it was pork.

"Well?" he asked, looking amused and clearly waiting for Will's verdict.

Will chewed slowly, appreciating the flavor, the tenderness of the meat, the way the spices blended together. He wondered if someone died just so Hannibal could wordlessly let Will know that…

There was a message to be understood here. It was a test. He put his fork down.

They had left words behind months ago. Will had orchestrated a demise that didn't happen as he expected. He had played along when he was still vulnerable from having his reality questioned and it had led to a sort of intimacy he didn't expect to last. Words had become unnecessary; he could feel Hannibal under his skin.

This was goodbye. Their last dinner together, their last moment of quiet understanding.

Will took the glass again. There was meaning in Hannibal's actions that words would just cheapen. He didn't expect Hannibal to be oblivious to his own intentions. He had accepted Hannibal's death; it was no longer a wish born out of anger. He couldn't let himself become Hannibal. He couldn't let go of Hannibal.

Eventually, he would have to kill Hannibal.

Death had paved their way to this moment and he had made peace with it. Their silence, their companionship, the carefulness to prepare food to be shared with only one person, their acceptance of the end…it was clear they could only see each other by now. The world had become unnecessary.

This dinner was a statement of esteem. Of love.

Will held Hannibal's gaze, hiding a small smile behind the wine glass. They both understood.

It was goodbye to a lover that wouldn't fully come to be.

This was their love letter.


End file.
